


the unfinished kiss

by Ellieb3an



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, M/M, Minor Violence, Partners to Lovers, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellieb3an/pseuds/Ellieb3an
Summary: Miya Atsumu is an agent working on an intelligence team codenamed the Black Jackals Unit. He loves his job, loves the art of careful deception and stealth, loves making his targets dance to his tune to wheedle out information, loves the thrill of a close call and the adrenaline when a fight is unavoidable. And he’sgoodat his job.Until he is framed for selling classified information to enemy spies. He ends up on the run, and his former partner, Sakusa Kiyoomi, tracks him halfway around the world, intent on bringing him in.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 270





	the unfinished kiss

**Author's Note:**

> spy AU smut that no one asked for because why not lol
> 
> The title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGY5ExCZ9Go), which is literally just playing in my head at the end of this fic XD

Excommunicado Notice Effective November 17, 2018:

Agent Miya Atsumu, Codename Tenko, Black Jackal Unit. Charged with selling state secrets, details classified. A warrant has been issued for his arrest. Return alive for questioning if possible. Considered highly dangerous; exercise caution. 

Terminate if necessary.

***

It goes down like this: Miya Atsumu is a skilled agent working on an intelligence team codenamed the Black Jackals Unit. He loves his job, loves the art of careful deception and stealth, loves making his targets dance to his tune to wheedle out information, loves the thrill of a close call and the adrenaline when a fight is unavoidable. And he’s _good_ at his job. Proud of his job.

Then, Miya Atsumu is framed for selling classified information to enemy spies.

It’s an inside job. Someone else in the agency, someone who must really have it out for him. He’s at least certain it’s not one of his Jackals team, because after a few years of having to trust those guys with his life in the field… well, he _really_ trusts them with his life. 

He has no lead and no proof and no hope of convincing anyone he’s done nothing wrong, so when his teammates Hinata and Bokuto show up and tell him he needs to go, he does. He makes hasty arrangements to get Osamu to safety with more than a little guilt that his lifestyle—the one Osamu bailed on years ago—is going to ruin the life Osamu built after getting out, and he disappears with a fake passport, a suitcase that was packed and ready for a mission, and all the cash he’d been smart enough to store away (especially now that his assets are all likely being tracked and frozen).

He moves around for weeks, not staying in one city or even country for too long as he tries to gather information, but eventually his partner—scratch that, _former_ partner—finds him hiding out in a hotel room in Rome. 

It’s late at night, and Atsumu is slipping into his room after meeting with an old informant. He’s already frustrated because he’s got nothing new to show for his trip here, just the same rumors about a snake in the Yotsuya Unit and no proof to bring home. It doesn’t distract him from noticing the lights that he left on are all out now nor the presence in the corner of the room.

He knows on instinct who it is.

_Of course_ it’s him. The persistent bastard has been on his tail since he made his escape from Japan, and he never could stop until a job is done. Very useful trait to have in a partner. Very annoying trait to have in a pursuer. 

Atsumu sighs, resigned as flips on the switch and the lamps come to life. He pointedly doesn’t look at the corner as he drops his jacket onto a chair. “You were bound to catch up to me eventually, I guess.”

“Now that I’m here, are you going to let me do this the easy way?”

Atsumu grins ruefully. “Depends on if yer still buyin’ the lies they’re feedin’ ya.”

Sakusa steps out of the shadow of that far corner, looking as professional and put-together as always in his crisp white button-down shirt and black slacks. A black mask covers his mouth and nose, exposing only his large dark eyes that are always careful to reveal so little. And the little leather gloves that stop at his wrist—those gloves that are far sexier than an article of clothing worn to protect Sakusa from touching has any right to be—are in place as they always are.

Sakusa holds his gun out in front of him, aimed at Atsumu with a steady hand and an unflinchingly neutral gaze.

Atsumu huffs. What else was he expecting?

“You know it’s lies, don’tcha? You know I wouldn’t do that. You know _me_ , or else what was the point of all those years workin’ together? Don’tcha trust me?”

_“What’s the matter, Omi-kun? Don’t trust me to stitch ya back up?” Atsumu asks when Sakusa pulls his arm out of Atsumu’s grasp._

_They’re lying low together in a cheap hotel room, waiting for retrieval after a mission went south. Sakusa is bleeding from a bullet graze, and they’re each other’s only options for medical attention right now._

_Sakusa looks unsure._

_Atsumu holds out his hand expectantly, opening and closing it in a ‘gimme’ gesture when Sakusa isn’t immediately offering his arm. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”_

_“And I just can do it myself,” Sakusa insists._

_Atsumu stops him from reaching for the medical supplies with a gentle hand. “You don’t have to.” He tilts his face into Sakusa’s line of sight, meeting the uncomfortable frown there with as much reassurance as he can offer. “Listen you can watch me clean my hands ten times between each stitch if ya need me to. I got this. Just trust me.”_

_Sakusa takes a deep, shuddering breath but nods his head once, and Atsumu tries to keep the satisfied smile from his face._

Sakusa’s face is more hardened now than it was then, no vulnerabilities to be seen. “If you’re innocent, then you’ll have no problem coming back with me to clear this up.” 

Atsumu pushes down his disappointment and laughs a harsh, cynical bark. “Then I guess I ain’t lettin’ ya do this the easy way, am I?” He walks up to Sakusa until the barrel of the gun is point blank at his chest. “Care to even up the playing field? I ain’t drawin’ a weapon on ya.”

A muscle in Sakusa’s jaw flinches, but he holsters his gun a moment later. 

It’s all Atsumu needs to know that there’s _some_ hope of reaching him if he’ll grant Atsumu enough trust for that, but it’s still slim as a fist comes for him.

It feels like a dance to a familiar tune, choreographed over years of partnership—from recruitment training to fighting side-by-side in the field to late-night sparring when the ghosts of missions gone wrong wouldn’t let them sleep. 

Atsumu knows the steps, knows when he could redirect to break the rhythm, knows where the openings are to exploit, but he still finds himself meeting Sakusa at each blow. And Sakusa does the same, the perfect dance partner, seamless and intuitive, his body matching Atsumu’s like they were meant to move together. 

They’re not pulling their punches, but they’ve never really been the type to hold back, not with hits or jibes. Still, the force of each blow feels like _more_ than it’s ever been. Atsumu can see Sakusa’s determination to fulfill the mission and bring him in, can feel the anger and confusion as he likely wonders how Atsumu could be a traitor. It only makes Atsumu more desperate to evade capture one more day, to clear his name, to live, _to make Sakusa see_.

Sakusa’s fist grazes him, and Atsumu tastes blood on his lip as he recovers and blocks the next punch with his forearm. Atsumu feints with his right and uses Sakusa’s distraction to step in closer and drive a heel into the side of his ankle.

_Atsumu lands hard on his back when his training partner takes out his ankle. He wasn’t expecting the move nor the amount of flexibility and agility this guy showed in their spar._

_He’s pleased to find someone else among the new recruits who can fight on his level, but he’s not too sure his training partner with the disinterested gaze feels the same. He’s a prideful son of a bitch, though. Atsumu can tell that much, even if he is moderate in his reactions._

_Sakusa Kiyoomi._ This is gonna be fun.

_“That was just gross, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, one side of his mouth turned up in a wry smile._

_Sakusa scowls and pointedly ignores the hand Atsumu is holding out expectantly for a lift up. “Excuse me?”_

_“Meant it as a compliment,” Atsumu insists. He gets to his feet himself and dusts himself off a bit dramatically for show._

_“You made it sound like an insult.”_

_Atsumu walks to the other side of their training space and looks over his shoulder. There’s an almost imperceptible, annoyed pout on Sakusa’s lips._ Oh yeah, definitely fun. _“Don’t take it to heart, Omi-kun.”_

_“Quit that.”_

_Atsumu grins and gets back into a sparring stance. “Make me.”_

Sakusa doesn’t go down without him, fists balling up in the front of Atsumu’s shirt, dragging him to the ground. He throws him off, right into the bedside table. The force of the impact bruises Atsumu’s ribs and topples the lamp with a crash that makes the light flicker out.

Atsumu scrambles to get back up, doesn’t even pause to observe what Sakusa’s going to do next, because he expects the foot that’s coming and catches it in his hand. 

“C’mon Omi, if yer gonna come after me, put some effort into it.”

Sakusa growls and whips his leg out of Atsumu’s hold. 

_“We need a distraction,” Atsumu mutters as he watches their mark draw closer to the doors Hinata is still behind after stealing the data. Just thirty seconds, maybe a minute, that’s all Hinata needs to get out of the room without being caught._

_“Okay, Omi,” Atsumu resolves. “Ya gotta hit me.”_

_Sakusa startles at the suggestion. “What?”_

_“I’m serious. We need to draw attention. C’mon and hit me like ya mean it. I’m givin’ ya a freebie here.”_

_“You really don’t want me to do that,” Sakusa says with a scowl._

_Atsumu leans in. “Ya know you wanna—”_

Sakusa’s punch catches Atsumu under the chin and rattles his teeth, followed by an elbow to the stomach. 

Atsumu groans and throws an off-balanced left hook that Sakusa dodges easily, but Sakusa’s step back is all he needs to regain the breath that was knocked out of him and go on the attack again.

As they exchange punch for punch again, Atsumu knows something is going to have to break the rhythm eventually. The pain blooming through his ribs tells him it’s going to be him unless he plays dirty. The desk chair is closeby if he can get on Sakusa’s other side and—

But it’s Sakusa who surprises him. The moment Atsumu glances at the chair, a shoulder drives into his chest, and he’s being bowled over, right off his feet. They tussle on the floor for a moment until finally Atsumu—too winded from the pain of his ribs—is pinned.

Sakusa’s weight presses him into the floor, and Atsumu doesn’t even try to struggle any longer. He could—having his wrists pinned on either side of his head while Sakusa kneels into his stomach is hardly an inescapable position. But they’re both breathless, sweaty, and plenty roughed up, and besides, Sakusa doesn’t seem to be going for any sort of finishing move to more securely apprehend him. 

Sakusa’s chest heaves with each pant as he leans over Atsumu. There’s a small cut in his hairline, near his temple, bleeding sluggishly in one small drip down the side of his face, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His dark eyes are as sharp and focused as Atsumu has ever seen them, but the harshness of his expression is softened but the way his curls have come loose where he usually slicks them back. They fall around his face, making him resemble the young recruit that Atsumu first met when they trained together. 

Atsumu smirks and relaxes under his hold as they both catch their breath. Well, _mostly_. He bends one knee and drags his leg up slowly against the back of Sakusa’s thigh, clearly not an attempt to get loose but to provoke. 

“Dirty move, Omi-kun,” he says, voice low and gruff. 

Atsumu wishes he could see his mouth, the irritated sneer that’s surely there behind that mask considering the way his eyes narrow. The little crease between Sakusa’s brows deepens, and he digs his fingers harder into Atsumu’s wrists. But the smooth leather of his gloved hand rubs almost gently over the inside of his left wrist. Once. Twice. His thumb stops halfway through a third pass. 

If he would just lose the gloves, he might be able to feel the way Atsumu’s pulse starts to race again. He might notice how Atsumu is beginning to lose his cool even as Sakusa’s own breathing calms.

Atsumu’s throat feels thick. “You have me at yer mercy. What’re ya gonna do now?” He tries to maintain some composure, to throw in a teasing tone, though he’s certain he’s failing as those gloved hands slide down just a couple inches along his forearms, grip still strong as they readjust. 

Sakusa appears to ponder him for a moment, eyes calculating and careful as always, but there’s something more in them. Something unsure, unsatisfied, hungry. And Atsumu needs that mask gone now so he can decipher his expression better, because maybe it’s just reflecting his own complicated feelings that have muddied every interaction they’ve had for months. Years. Forever.

The lamp they’ve knocked over and broken flickers into life a few times behind Sakusa, illuminating his edges and highlighting the mess of curls around his head. _Like a halo,_ Atsumu thinks, aware of how lame it sounds and that Sakusa is certainly no angel, short of one here to mark his end. 

Sakusa’s grip relaxes just a fraction, and it snaps Atsumu into action. He twists one arm out of Sakusa’s hold and snags the mask before he has time to react.

_Ah,_ that’s what Atsumu has been craving. He has seen Sakusa’s whole face before plenty of times—undercover missions that take them to formal events around the world don’t always allow for Sakusa’s personal comfort, after all—but it still dumbfounds Atsumu like a sucker punch from time to time. Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is obscenely attractive with his neat black curls and his sharp eyes, so dark they’re almost black too— _like yer soul_ , Atsumu had once joked while they took cover nearly nose-to-nose in a narrow alley on a mission, only to get a well-deserved elbow to the gut. His jaw is sharp and his smile—rarely seen even without the mask—is stunning, accented by his one dimple that forms in his left cheek, giving off the illusion that Sakusa is actually _charming_.

He’s especially beautiful right now with his cheeks flushed pink and an ugly snarl curling his upper lip to match the flash of frustration in his eyes. 

Sakusa’s hand captures Atsumu’s again, holding it inches from his face. “Watch yourself, Miya,” he hisses, leaning in closer.

His breath feels warm against Atsumu’s face. The distance between their lips is so short now, and Sakusa’s weight is barely restraining. It would take so little effort to—

Sakusa beats him to it, and it surprises Atsumu so much that it’s not until there’s a wet tongue pressing into his mouth that he even realizes _Sakusa_ is kissing _him_. Atsumu closes his eyes and cranes his head upward, opening his own mouth to meet Sakusa with enthusiasm. He lets go of the stolen mask and digs his fingers into Sakusa’s hair, and Sakusa responds in kind with fingers that are a little too rough as they tug.

Atsumu pushes Sakusa backward, maintaining the contact between their mouths as he forces them both up onto their knees. It’s clumsy and inelegant and ends in Sakusa’s back up against the side of the bed while Atsumu scrambles with the buttons of his shirt and crowds over him. Sakusa wastes no time grabbing the bottom hem of Atsumu’s shirt to pull it up over his head, so deftly that he doesn’t leave Atsumu tangled in his own sleeves for more than a second.

Atsumu returns to his mouth, to his damn impossible buttons, and lets out a frustrated growl.

“Finally wanna give this a ride before ya turn it in, huh?” he says breathlessly, because his mouth needs to be doing _something_ as he breaks away to better see what his hands are fumbling with—it may as well be talking.

Sakusa grabs him by the chin, and Atsumu catches the earthy scent of leather as his face is guided back to Sakusa’s.

“You’re insufferable.”

Atsumu laughs. “Then I’m in good company.”

Another gloved hand settles on Atsumu’s hip and glides up the side of his body. _Damn it_ , Atsumu’s patience for these buttons is wearing thin, so he rips them open instead. Sakusa grunts some mild disapproval over the ruined shirt and catches Atsumu’s lip between teeth— _ouch_ , considering he split it with his punch earlier—but it’s not like he was going to salvage the shirt after this anyway, not with the blood that stains the collar. Besides, _good_ , Atsumu thinks, let the bastard get annoyed at him. Let him aggressively yank Atsumu closer so that their bare chests are pressed together.

Atsumu can’t get the shirt off his arms with the shoulder holster in the way, but he spreads his palms over Sakusa’s chest and hums appreciatively at the firm muscle there. One hand travels to the dips and ridges of Sakusa’s abs while the other plays at his nipple, thumb grazing over and tracing circles around it. He drags his kisses from Sakusa’s mouth to his jawline to his neck to his collarbone and down down down, letting his tongue leave a wet trail and tasting just the sweat they’ve both worked up—and very little else—all along the way.

It’s a thing he’s always wondered about Sakusa, considering he’s smelled him—or more precisely, _not_ smelled him—plenty of times before. And he’s seen the fragrance-free soaps and cleansers the man takes with him on every travel mission. Sakusa has always, from the moment Atsumu first met him, been scrupulously clean, extending to his rejection of anything with unnecessary additives.

Atsumu found it amusing and quirky before, but right now, thinking about how all he’s tasting is 100% untainted Sakusa, it makes his cock—already hard and aching to be let out of his pants—twitch. His hand finally finds the front of Sakusa’s pants, and he’s pleased to find he agrees.

He wants to know what 100% untainted Sakusa tastes like with Sakusa’s cock in his mouth.

He tells Sakusa so while kissing his lips again and grinding his hips forward into Sakusa’s, and Sakusa grips him tighter. The combination of his warm, slick skin under Atsumu’s hands and the friction of the leather gloves makes Atsumu all the more desperate to have him now. 

He’s more efficient with Sakusa’s belt buckle than he was with the shirt, at least, and he triumphantly tugs the entire thing free from the belt loops with a smug grin. Sakusa tilts his hips forward into Atsumu’s hand, a clear message to finish the job.

“So needy, Omi-kun,” Atsumu chides while tugging on the button of his pants but not undoing them.

“Do you ever shut up, Miya?” It hardly sounds like an actual complaint the way he all but moans it.

“Not unless yer gonna make me.”

Sakusa grunts and shoves him away.

Atsumu nearly sulks at the loss of his mouth and hands on him, but then Sakusa is hastily throwing the bedspread and pillows onto the floor, stripping the bed down to just its sheets. He apparently deems the setup bearable enough because he turns back to Atsumu with determination in his eyes as he rids himself of his holster and shirt. Atsumu reaches for his bag, tossed aside on the ground beside the bed, and rifles through it.

For a moment, Sakusa raises his defenses again, watching warily, but Atsumu tuts and offers him a big shit-eating grin. “Hold yer horses, Omi-Omi, it’s just condoms,” he says, holding up the package and the lube in one hand to placate him. 

He crosses the couple feet to Sakusa on his knees and tosses the items onto the bed. Sakusa’s legs tremble as he unfastens his pants and pulls them and his underwear down, but Atsumu hardly pays that any mind when he’s seeing Sakusa’s cock for the first time—long and perfectly erect right in front of his face. It comes as no surprise that Sakusa keeps himself neatly trimmed, but Atsumu notes it appreciatively while wrapping his hand around the base.

It feels so good in his hand as he tests the waters with one long, languid stroke that conjures up the faintest moan from Sakusa, and Atsumu wonders, _Is there not any part of this man that isn’t perfect?_

Atsumu tries to push Sakusa to lie back, but he sits instead and curls his fingers tightly into Atsumu’s hair, giving him pause.

He glances up. “Ya doin’ alright?” 

Sakusa looks anything _but_ alright.

The Sakusa he knows is always calm and collected—unfathomably cold at worst and fun to annoy at best. But right now he looks like he’s barely maintaining control. His breathing is heavy again, and his free hand is clutching at the bedsheets like a lifeline. He’s curled over himself a bit, but it hardly shrinks his appearance with those shoulders so broad and those long, lean muscles that have been trained to kill a man in dozens of ways. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes are filled with a desire so ravenous he looks almost pained.

“Get on the bed.” It’s a terse command, no room for argument, and Atsumu listens, choosing to crawl up over his lap. But just when he’s about to take hold of him again, Sakusa flips them around and presses his lips to Atsumu’s neck to kiss him with that perfect wet mouth and a flick of his tongue against tender skin sending a shiver down Atsumu’s spine.

Then he towers over Atsumu and says, “You too,” but doesn’t wait for Atsumu to understand before stripping him of the rest of his clothes and leaving them both naked, save for a single pair of leather gloves.

When he’s done, he gazes down at Atsumu, fully exposed with his legs spread enough to accommodate the man kneeling between them. 

“Like what you see?” Atsumu jokes awkwardly, feeling like he’s on display to be scrutinized, but then Sakusa licks his lip and lets out a shaky breath. And _hell, if_ a look _could fuck ya senseless..._

He hooks a hand under Atsumu’s knee and lifts it onto his shoulder before reaching for the bottle of lube to coat his gloved fingers. 

His hand is slick and cold as he slides it between Atsumu’s cheeks and spreads the lube across his rim. When he pushes his middle finger in slowly, the drag of the leather against Atsumu’s insides adds an exciting new sensation to the otherwise familiar feeling.

Atsumu is almost surprised at Sakusa leaving the gloves on for this with the unnecessary mess he’s making of them, but then again, he’s seen the dozen identical pairs he packs when he travels. These ones can be tossed—maybe Atsumu can even just take them with him as a souvenir. Besides, he’s certainly not complaining at the way it makes Sakusa’s already large finger feel thicker as it massages, pushing deeper, curling into him just enough to elicit a gasp.

Atsumu reaches between them but Sakusa shakes his head and pushes his second finger in with less ceremony than the first, leaving Atsumu seeing stars and clutching at his bicep instead. His cock is aching to be touched as Sakusa finds a rhythm and fucks him with his hand, so Atsumu wriggles himself into a position where he can feel the smooth skin of Sakusa’s cock against his own.

“Omi-kun, please,” Atsumu absolutely does _not_ whine.

Sakusa works in a third finger, slowly at first, but then with a greater sense of urgency as Atsumu moans beneath him. He leans back over Atsumu to capture his sounds in a kiss. It’s wonderful and agonizing. Atsumu can’t bear not touching him a moment longer so he curls his fingers around both of their cocks and relishes the soft noise Sakusa makes into his mouth when he strokes them together.

Sakusa’s fingers spread inside him, working him open, and Atsumu keens. In the haze of his body feeling like it’s been set on fire, he fumbles his free hand around blindly for the condoms. He still hasn’t surfaced for air from his kiss with Sakusa when he tears open a packet and starts unrolling it over Sakusa’s dick.

“I want you inside me right now,” Atsumu says against his lips, and Sakusa is already lifting his other leg up onto his shoulder and slicking himself with more lube. 

Atsumu has thought about this moment a thousand times before. Usually in a fleeting thought when a mission forced them in close quarters or spars got a little heated or they shared hotel rooms. More detailed when he was in the privacy of his own apartment touching himself and recalling the unimpressed way Sakusa told him to ‘fuck off, Miya.’

No leap of the imagination could have prepared him for the way Sakusa looks catching his lower lip between his teeth while lining himself up to Atsumu, nor for the way his cock presses into him in one long, measured thrust. The initial sting gives way to hot pleasure as Sakusa slips out to the tip and then drives home again, deeper and harder this time.

Atsumu forgets how to breathe. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so full before, and Sakusa seems set on knocking the air out of his lungs with the force of his thrusts. 

“Omi…”

Sakusa kisses the inside of his knee, surprisingly tender considering the way he’s fucking into him so hard. Atsumu needs to feel his hands on him, not the dumb gloves between them where he grips his thighs. He yanks one hand toward himself, pressing his own tender kiss to the exposed inner wrist. It startles Sakusa out of his steady rhythm when Atsumu starts pulling at the glove.

“What?” Atsumu grunts as he struggles with the snug material. “Ya already got yer dick inside me. What’s it gonna hurt to touch me with yer bare hands?”

When the glove comes off, Atsumu presses Sakusa’s palm against his chest, and Sakusa only hesitates a moment before grasping him and rolling his thumb over Atsumu’s nipple. Atsumu reaches for his neck to pull him down toward him, and finally that last bit of restraint Sakusa seems to be clinging to breaks. His hands roam Atsumu’s body as he practically folds him in half to latch his mouth to Atsumu’s neck, and he drives into Atsumu hard again, sinking himself all the way into him. 

Sakusa everywhere, inside and around and all over Atsumu, making every nerve in his body tingle with the amount of passion, force, and tenderness all at once. It’s completely intoxicating, and Atsumu can feel himself shaking. Neither of them is even touching his dick anymore, but with every thrust that hits the right spot—and _fuck_ , Sakusa is very talented at doing just that—Atsumu can feel himself hurtling closer to oblivion. He wraps his arms around Sakusa, digs his nails into his back, sinks his teeth into Sakusa’s shoulder to muffle his cries.

Atsumu rocks his hips to match Sakusa’s rhythm. And Sakusa responds to him in kind, the perfect partner, seamless and intuitive, his body matching Atsumu’s like they were meant to move together. 

“Shit, _Atsumu._ ”

His given name has never sounded so good on any other tongue as it does the first time Sakusa says it out loud.

“Don’t stop,” Atsumu murmurs, his lips pressed up against Sakusa’s ear. _Don’t slow this pace. Don’t take your lips off my neck. Don’t stop saying my name. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t..._

Sometimes Atsumu thinks he might be in love with Sakusa. 

When the thrill of a successful mission winds down to a calm over a victory drink and dark eyes bore into his own a moment longer than he would expect. And it feels like there’s something hanging unsaid, something Atsumu thinks he understands in between the usual jibes and taunts they exchange. 

When Sakusa tolerates his touch better than the rest of their teammates’ and it makes Atsumu want to touch him more, to find out if every point of contact between them tingles for Sakusa the way it does for him.

When Atsumu makes a call that goes badly and is harder on himself than anyone could ever be, and Sakusa stays. Sure, he bitches at him, fights him, doesn’t cut Atsumu slack when he doesn’t deserve any but still, he stays, somehow comforting in his brusque manner. And Atsumu wants to ask if he’ll stay near him forever. 

Right now seems like an awful time to come to a grand revelation about it—what with being framed for a double cross and having his would-be captor’s dick buried in him—but Atsumu’s never been a reasonable man. 

Heaving breaths, Sakusa thrusts into him fast and hard, hitting over and over where it sparks up Atsumu’s spine and makes his stomach tighten. He makes sounds Atsumu never dreamed he would, stirring up something more than any melody ever could. And his expression is so unguarded for the first time—relaxed and soft and ravenous all at once. 

The next time Sakusa bottoms out, Atsumu can feel his cock pulsing, ready for release as he rolls his hips again and sends Atsumu over the edge with him. Heat spreads through Atsumu’s body, and his vision is washed out in white while he comes all over himself. When he moans Omi-kun’s name and hears the strangled cry of his own in return, he’s suddenly sure of it.

That overturned lamp flickers to life again as Sakusa collapses onto him, heavy and panting, his face pressed into the crook of Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu watches the light wavering on the ceiling, unsure if it’s the lamp or his own hazy vision, and pushes his fingers into sweat-damp curls.

Right now, in this moment, he’s absurdly, impossibly, infuriatingly in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

_...Well, fuck me._

***

_Three days before Miya Atsumu is framed for selling out his team, he’s wrapping up a successful mission in a hotel suite shared with Sakusa._

_It's just the two of them this time around, as it so often is on these smaller jobs, and they enjoy a celebratory drink, as they so often do. Only tonight, one drink becomes many, as they—and perhaps Atsumu is slightly more guilty in the endeavor—polish off a bottle of expensive scotch, and Sakusa seems content to stay up late listening to Atsumu recount well-known tales of missions past._

_They sit near each other at the foot of Sakusa’s bed, cozy as the alcohol warms them and loosens any remaining tension from the day. Sakusa is still dressed in his former attire sans the jacket—hung neatly in the closet unlike Atsumu’s, unceremoniously dumped on a chair with his tie and cuff links—but his mask hangs loose from one ear as he drinks._

_Atsumu tries not to look too hard at him. He fails, especially when Sakusa—distracting bastard that he is—smiles, but it helps to divert himself by talking._

_“Hinata still apologizes any time it comes up,” Atsumu laughs as he retells a mission when their teammate nearly got them all caught with a poorly timed shout of excitement. “All turned out alright in the end, though, didn’t it? It’s a good thing I kept my wits about me and got everyone outta there.”_

_“Yeah, right,” Sakusa says with a smirk accented by one shallow dimple. “And you wouldn’t have gotten out of that one if I didn’t cover your ass.”_

_“Oh?” Atsumu leans close to him, half emboldened by the alcohol and half by the fact that Sakusa doesn’t lean away. He gives him a lazy grin and bumps their shoulders together. “Do ya think about my ass often, Omi-kun?”_

_Sakusa raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink, but he doesn’t push Atsumu away. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says with a sideway glance, dark eyes shining with amusement._

_It delights Atsumu. “Well, you can cover it any time ya like.”_

_He wants to smack himself._ What a terrible, mortifying come on. _But his brain is too bogged down by the alcohol to come up with anything better._

_Sakusa only scoffs lightly._

_Fondly._

_Atsumu’s eyes are drawn to the soft curve of his lips, still wet from the scotch._

Kiss him, he thinks. He’s so close. He’s waiting. Kiss him.

_He thinks he leans in for it, but he can’t be sure. Is the room a blur all around him or is that the way time freezes when you’re about to kiss someone who’s been making your heart stutter for years or is it the alcohol getting to his head?_

_He thinks too long and acts too slowly, and Sakusa sighs, turning his head, his lips out of reach._

_Atsumu’s head rests against his shoulder instead, suddenly realizing just how heavy and tired he is._

_Another sigh, more dramatic this time. “Miya, go back to your own room if you're going to pass out.”_

_“Not sleepin’,” Atsumu mumbles, cheek squished where it rests. But he faintly realizes his eyes are closed, so maybe he is._

_Somewhere in that space between awake and unconscious, Atsumu is aware of strong arms moving him, setting him to rest against the pillows and rearranging his limbs. A blanket settles over him. Something soft and warm brushes his forehead, so featherlight he may have well imagined it._

_“Sleep well, idiot.”_

***

Atsumu drifts in and out in his fucked out exhaustion after Sakusa rolls off of him and cleans them both up. They lie beside each other, both too relaxed to think about the world away from this bed as Atsumu lazily trails his finger over Sakusa’s body, playing connect-the-dots between the moles that are scattered there.

Sakusa looks so beautiful, all sleepy and flushed, his eyes heavy, fighting to stay open as he studies Atsumu’s face. While Atsumu’s finger follows the invisible line from a mole at Sakusa’s hip to one at the back on his ribs, he finally breaks the silence between them.

“I still have to turn you in,” Sakusa says, expression blank. But if he’s trying to keep the edge of regret out of his voice, he fails spectacularly. 

Atsumu doesn’t call him out on it. “We’re still on pause. You can go back to capturin’ me in the morning.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, but when Atsumu pushes a stray curl out of his eyes, he catches his hand. It’s so much more tender than the way he did earlier that it causes an ache to bloom inside Atsumu’s chest.

“C’mon Omi-kun,” he says, “indulge a guy’s wish before ya throw him to the wolves, won’tcha?”

There’s a little frown on Sakusa’s face, and his eyes flash with uncertainty. Atsumu thinks that Sakusa trusts him enough, that now that he’s gotten past the initial shock of the supposed crime he realizes Atsumu isn’t lying to him. He wouldn’t have slept with him if he _didn’t_ trust him, after all. But there’s protocol to follow, and Sakusa is nothing if not thorough in seeing any mission through to the end.

Still, he must know that if he brings Atsumu back, there won’t be a fair trial, _if_ they even give him a trial at all. Returning Atsumu before he can clear his own name could be a death sentence… one carried out swiftly and silently.

Atsumu presses his palm to Sakusa’s cheek and kisses him, slow and soft, before resting his head just a breath away from Sakusa’s. “Just… stay here a while longer.”

Then, Sakusa nods minutely and closes his eyes.

Atsumu watches him for a long time after his breaths even out in sleep, and this is harder than the initial leaving without a farewell, harder than sending Suna to take Osamu on the run before they got him for leverage, harder than the past weeks where he’s barely had a moment to sit still.

Through an opening in the curtains, he can see the early pink hues of twilight outside. Time to go before he wastes the opportunity Sakusa has given him. 

He extracts himself from Sakusa as carefully as possible to keep up the pretense that he’s sneaking, and Sakusa doesn’t make a move to indicate he’s roused. Atsumu ignores the aches from the fighting and the screwing while he dresses.

From one of his bags he produces handcuffs and a fleece blanket grabbed on a whim when he was leaving for the last mission he was meant on. One of the blankets Sakusa brought with him for jobs, because he insisted on using his own bedding wherever they went. 

Atsumu woke up covered by it once and never bothered to give it back.

Seems like as good a time as any to return it (he can’t very well leave Sakusa here naked, can he?) so he spreads it out over him before delicately hanging Sakusa’s arm over the side of the bed to snap the handcuff around his wrist and the bed frame.

Sakusa is going to be pissed when he wakes up.

He doesn’t rouse from his sleep, so Atsumu spares another moment to appreciate the softness of his tousled curls spread around his head and the way his long eyelashes rest above his sharp cheekbones. He hopes he’ll see him again, next time under different circumstances, but for now he leaves him with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Sleep well, Kiyoomi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! And you can find me on twitter @3llieb3an!


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